By now everyone of us have heard of what Pat Robertson has to say about the earthquake that just about leveled Haiti. I cannot help it, here is the highlight of his point:
“They were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III and whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, ‘We will serve you if you will get us free from the French.’ True story. And so, the devil said, ‘OK, it’s a deal.'”
If you have a strong stomach and does not wince easily, here is the broadcast of his show where he made this, eh, huh, “unfortunate” statement.
First we were shocked. Disbelief. Then we quickly got over the puzzlement of “Why is Pat Robertson still relevant?” amidst this unspeakable human tragedy and the global mobilization to send aids to this country that had so little for its people and so much to suffer even before the devastations by the earthquake. But a response must be given. And how?
How do you even react to something so outlandish that your first thought was, “Is this from The Onion, again? The Onion surely has been making into a lot of high-profile news lately…”
Why, a letter from the devil himself, of course!
Dear Pat Robertson,
I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I’m all over that action. But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I’m no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished. Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth — glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven’t you seen “Crossroads”? Or “Damn Yankees”? If I had a thing going with Haiti, there’d be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox — that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it — I’m just saying: Not how I roll. You’re doing great work, Pat, and I don’t want to clip your wings — just, come on, you’re making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That’s working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.
Best,
Satan
This letter was sent in to Star Tribune in the Twin Cities by a reader named Lily Coyle. Whoever you are, wherever you are, God Bless You, Lily Coyle.